


A Shot in the Dark

by DinerGuy



Category: Zoo (TV)
Genre: Also heroic Jackson is heroic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, If you can't tell by now I have a thing for filling in the blanks on television shows, Missing Scene, Not so much comfort, Whump, also for whump, and also very confused, besides that’s not the point here, but heroic even in the midst of said confusion, but hey it happens in the next episode so everything balances out, of which there is no lack here, speculative fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-29 02:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12072807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DinerGuy/pseuds/DinerGuy
Summary: An injured Jackson finds himself stumbling around a silent plane, panicking and in shock and, quite literally, very nearly dead. The only thought he can manage to hold onto is, “Save the world.” Easier said than done.Missing scene, takes place between 03.10 and 03.11





	A Shot in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILER ALERT!!!! I mean, it is a missing scene, so you kind of should expect said spoilers within. But hey, you've been warned.
> 
> Set directly between the end of “Once Upon A Time In The Nest” and the beginning of “Cradles and Graves” because how did Jackson end up collapsing against the tank room door if Abigail shot him in the vehicle bay?
> 
> Big thanks to frankie_mcstein for batting ideas around with me and helping (over)analyze the team’s various places throughout the plane, hunting down plane schematics from previous episodes and finding the season 2 episode where we get an abbreviated tour of said plane, and rewatching the beginning of “Cradles and Graves” at least half a dozen times. (In other words, y’all better appreciate this fic after all the time we spent on it.) (Don’t worry; I’m just kidding.) (Maybe.) And then also thanks to her for the beta reading once it was completed!
> 
> Same drill as usual; standard disclaimers apply.

Jackson stared up at the ceiling of the plane. His hand clenched his side, and he could feel the warm liquid slick between his fingers as he tried to staunch the bleeding from the gunshot wound.

His mouth opened and closed as he tried to catch his breath. It was as much from pain as it was from shock—and not just the shock of the bullet wound itself but from having seen his sister on her feet. Abe had told him that Abigail hadn’t made it through the surgery, that they had lost her. Yet she had been quite alive when she’d shot him moments before. It was amazing how much still seemed to come out of left field considering everything that had happened up to this point. Maybe it had something to do with her hybrid DNA… Knowing their father, anything was possible.

Taking another quick breath, keeping it shallow so as not to aggravate his side more than necessary, Jackson frowned as the ceiling started to go blurry above him. He blinked… and the temptation to keep his eyes closed and welcome the darkness was so strong… He even gave in for a moment, before the thought hit him: Abigail had come from inside the plane.

His eyes flew open at the realization. Of course she had come from inside the plane. She had been on the operating table in the lab. Abe’s lab. But that meant…

Jackson fought the wave of nausea that threatened as he realized with sickening dread that if Abigail had come from the lab, and if she had a gun, and if she hadn’t hesitated to use it on him, then there was no way that she hadn’t hurt anyone else.

And it was all his fault.

He had been the one to bring her on the plane, to insist that the others do everything in their power to save his sister… It had seemed like a completely reasonable request at the time, and they _needed_ her. They needed to know what she knew if they had any hope of saving the world, and besides that, she was his sister. There had been no way Jackson was going to leave Abigail to die in Copenhagen, but now his insistence on saving her life could very well be the thing that brought the team down. Abigail had never shown restraint before, and she’d tried to kill them all more than once. She was out to end the world, at least the world as they all knew it, and she would do whatever it took to accomplish her goal. It wasn’t a far reach to assume she’d done something to the others—

A tickle in his throat prompted a round of coughing that wracked his entire body and sent waves of pain rolling up and down his chest, effectively ending his train of thought, at least for the time being. When it finally subsided, he lay still, panting. The pain ran up and down his spine, taking over everything with its fiery fingers. He focused on the ceiling again, concentrating all of his willpower on not passing out. As much as he just wanted to accept his fate and never wake, one word remained in the forefront of his mind: _Abe_.

He had to get to his friend. There was a deep, gut-wrenching feeling of dread that only continued to grow as he thought about it. There had been no suppressor on the end of Abigail’s pistol, which meant the gunshot that took Jackson down should have been heard all over the plane. The fact that no one had shown up to investigate by now had Jackson certain that something was very, very wrong.

Gritting his teeth, he clenched his right hand over the bullet wound in his left side, using his forearm to brace against his stomach as he dropped his left arm to the ground next to him. He took as deep of a breath as he dared and then rolled to his left, using his elbow to balance his weight as he pushed to a sitting position.

He couldn’t hold back the primal yell that forced its way out of his throat as the pain tore through his entire being. It was excruciating, and he nearly blacked out before he’d gotten all the way up. Still, he pressed on, knowing that even one moment could make a difference if Abe were injured and in trouble in the lab. So Jackson swallowed, stuffed the pain down in the back of his mind, gritted his teeth, and readied himself for the long ordeal that he knew lay ahead for him. Then he took another breath, put his hand on the floor beside him, and pushed to his feet.

The room swayed in front of him for a few seconds, and he put his hand up to brace himself against the vehicle. He was dimly aware that he was leaving a trail of blood wherever his fingers touched, but there was no time to worry about that right now. Jackson knew that his injury was no laughing matter; back in Africa, a dozen or so years ago when this had all started, Mitch had made it very clear that without medical attention, this sort of a wound was incredibly bad news. There was no way to know how long he had left, and Jackson was not about to die without doing every single thing he could to save his friends.

He stumbled forward, barely keeping his feet from getting entangled and sending him to the floor, and somehow made it to the stairs leading to the rest of the plane. Stairs. He’d forgotten about those.

Nausea threatened in the back of his throat, and he swallowed hard. Then he put his left hand out and kind of fell onto the handrail. A fresh surge of warm blood soaked his palm that he had pressed against his wound, and he pushed harder, wincing at the pressure but knowing that he had to keep the bleeding under control if he ever hoped to make it to the lab. Hopefully Abe had some bags of blood ready somewhere—after all, the lab was fitted with numerous other medical equipment—if he planned to see about a transfusion, he’d have to actually make it to the lab and not pass out from blood loss in the vehicle bay.

It took every ounce of concentration he could muster, but he got his right foot onto the first step and then carefully threw his weight forward, dragging his left foot up behind it. He stood there, panting for a moment, then repeated the process twice more. He was sweating with the effort by the time he reached the top of the short staircase, but he’d made it. That was the important part.

The pain was threatening the corners of his consciousness again, turning everything gray and fuzzy at the edges. Instead of pausing to dwell on it, he forged ahead, focusing every ounce of his attention on the door straight ahead of him. All he had to do was get through it. And then all he had to do was make his way down the short corridor to the lab. Simple enough.

He wasn’t even sure how long it took him to get from the stairs in the vehicle bay to the door into the rest of the plane, but it was slower than he would have liked. Then he slowly started for the lab. There were a few moments when he stumbled and had to put out his hand to stop himself from falling to the ground. The smeared trail of partial handprints along the wall every three feet told the tale of just how unsteady he was on his feet. Somehow, though, he continued to take step after halting step. He ignored the pain, ignored the blood slicking his hand, and pressed on.

The only thought in his mind—indeed the only thing he could focus on amidst what he knew was his body going into shock—was that he had to get help. Exactly how he was going to do that, he had no idea just yet. But all he could manage was just taking one halting step at a time. He’d figure out the rest when he came to it.

In the next moment, his knees failed him, and he sprawled forward onto the floor of the narrow hallway. He managed to catch himself, but his arms buckled under the weight and only slowed his fall slightly.

Jackson lay there, panting with exertion. He winced and moved his hand to check on his side, groaning in frustration at the sight of the continued bleeding. It wasn’t as heavy as before, but it was still there. That explained the weakness he was feeling; he honestly wasn’t sure how he was still conscious after the amount of blood he had certainly shed since this ordeal had begun, but he wasn't about to argue with whatever reason there was.

As if on cue, though, his already-fuzzy surroundings grew dark, and the low rumble of the plane’s systems faded away. Jackson’s eyes slid closed, and he took a deep breath, not even noticing the pain this time. It was as if a soft blanket had been wrapped around him, and he welcomed the respite from the agony of mere moments before.

Whatever had happened to the others, Jackson was starting to realize that none of them were going to make it out of this. After all of the threats they had faced down, a madwoman with a gun was going to be their undoing. Abe… Mitch… Jamie… Max… Clem…

Clem.

Baby.

Jackson’s eyes shot open, and he hissed at the sudden intake of breath. The only thing that mattered right now was Clementine and her unborn child. If the world hoped to be saved from this hybrid scourge, as well as the plague of global sterility, then Clem had to survive. Clem’s baby had to survive.

Clem.

The darkness still threatened his consciousness, and he could feel himself slipping away, but he latched onto that one word.

Clem. He had to get to Clem.

Abe had said he’d sped along the baby’s development and that it was almost time for Clem to come back out of the tank. If everyone on the plane had been mortally wounded, Clem stood a better chance out of the stasis tank than trapped inside it. The IADG knew where the plane was and what the situation was with Clem. Dariella could send a team. Clem and the baby would be safe.

Jackson just had to get her out. Now. Before he lost his grip on reality for good.

He swallowed as he thought about traversing the length of the corridor to the room where they were keeping the tank. It would be an arduous journey, but one that he had to do. Nothing else mattered anymore. If he had to use his last breath to do it, then so be it; he’d long ago committed to saving the world however he had to. He might as well go down swinging. What did he have to lose?

Ignoring the little voice in his head that insisted he just stay put, Jackson once again braced himself against the floor and climbed to his feet. He let out a long yell as he did, releasing his pain and anger and giving him the motivation to rise. He put out his right hand to brace against the wall next to him and covered his side with his left palm.

It won’t be much longer, he told himself. Just get to Clem and then you can sleep.

Clem…

It was the only thought he could coherently latch onto, and he clung to it as he headed down the hall toward the room that held the tank.

Left foot.

Clem.

Right foot.

The baby.

Shift your hand.

Tank.

Left foot…

And so he somehow forced himself across the yards that lay between him and Clem, focusing past the haze creeping past his peripheral vision.

Clem.

He had to get to Clem.

By the time he reached the tank room, he was breathing even more heavily than before, and sweat was beading along his hairline. He pulled up short as he noticed the closed door that now confronted him. He hadn’t quite thought that part through; he was quite certain he had none of the strength it would take to pull the sliding door open.

He’d have to try, though. There was no other way.

Why couldn’t Jamie’s fancy state-of-the-art plane have automatic doors anyway?

Everything went blurry for a moment, and Jackson blinked slowly, trying to bring his surroundings back into focus.

He blinked again, frowning deeply as the action only seemed to increase the lack of clear sight on his part.

His legs started to shake, and he slammed his fist against the wall—although the action came across much weaker than he’d intended. This was not happening. He did not come this far just to fail here.

A low, electronic beeping came from his right, and he glanced over, squinting as he realized it was the tablet mounted on the wall just past the doorway.

Tablet… Okay, that was good news, right?

He was having trouble putting his thoughts together at this point, but…

Clem.

Yes.

That’s why he was here.

If he could just get the computer to send a command to the tank’s controls, he might not have to physically go inside and turn it off and pull Clem out.

He just hoped it worked, because he was running out of time.

A cough shook his frame then, eliciting a growl of pain as his stomach contracted. He breathed through it, then pushed off from the wall and stumbled over his own feet as he half-fell, half-walked over to the tablet.

His knees started to buckle, but he gritted his teeth and reached out a hand to touch the screen. Ignoring the fingerprints he was now leaving behind, he squinted at the display. He could just barely make out the words, and he tapped the buttons to navigate to the right part of the system.

A barely-audible voice in the back of his mind told him he should call for help, but the thought was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the name he kept repeating to himself over and over. Clem.

He couldn’t get sidetracked. He wasn’t even sure he’d be able to complete any command sequence. Indeed, he had to hit the back button several times as his shaking hands tapped the wrong place on the screen. Somehow, finally, he was rewarded with the flashing message: TANK RELEASE SEQUENCE INITIATED

Jackson sighed in relief, the breath coming almost as a sob as it caught in his throat alongside another groan of pain. He was starting to lose control of his faculties, he could feel it.

He slumped against the side of the hallway, and his eyes slid closed of their own accord.

Moments later, the sound of a woman’s yelling broke through the darkness. “Dad!”

Jackson’s eyes flew open.

Clem!

It had worked!

His last ditch effort had worked. Clem was okay!

The thought that he needed to tell her what had happened, to have her call for help shook him fully awake. He opened his mouth to call out to her, but nothing came.

He tried again, but his words stuck in his throat and all that came out was a pained gasp.

The effort had restarted the nausea and the blurred vision, and Jackson knew his only chance was to get to the door and somehow force the words out. Clem needed to know what had happened.

He threw his weight forward from where he lay back against the wall and started for the door, behind which he could hear Clem’s increasingly panicked voice.

And then Jackson’s knees grew weak, and he felt himself falling. His arms were slow to respond, and he slumped heavily against the door. From somewhere in the distance, he could hear Clem still yelling.

In the brief moment before he lost his tenuous grip on consciousness, the thought of Abigail lingered in his mind, and then the darkness overtook his vision, and he slumped senseless against the door.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is all because I got stuck on some things from this past week’s episode. First off, how and why did Jackson get from the vehicle bay to the tank room? Second, how did Clem get out of that tank in the first place? (And why did they never tell us how?)
> 
> I was torn on how to have Clem have gotten out, because there’s no way she let herself out (she was in stasis so obviously there’s no way she was aware of what was going on—as evidenced by her subsequent reactions). I figured this was a plausible explanation, but I honestly am curious how the show writers intended for it to happen.


End file.
